


Relatively Speaking

by DebbieF



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-17
Updated: 2014-09-17
Packaged: 2018-02-17 17:11:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2317052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DebbieF/pseuds/DebbieF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story deals with Rochefort and d'Artagnan plus the rest of the gang.</p><p>I will say that I was on a Musketeer website where clips of season 1 and season 2 are shown. Saw an interesting one introducing Rochefort's character where he had long hair, was pretty rough looking and Aramis was in the background. So I really jumped to a conclusion assuming he may have been a Musketeer at one point and wrote that into my storyline.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Relatively Speaking

*Comte Rochefort’s office*

“ Dear, Roche, I don’t like hiding things from my friends and certainly not Captain Treville.” D’Artagnan leaned casually against the edge of Rochefort’s desk playing with a paperweight he was tossing up and down in his hands until Rochefort snatched it in mid air.

“Please, d’Art, that’s quite annoying.”

“Why can’t I tell them we’re related?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Rochefort sent the youngster an aggravated look. “Even though it is quite distant I worry that once our relationship is established Treville and your three friends may start wondering who your allegiance lies with since I technically work for the cardinal.”

Standing up, d’Artagnan slammed his hand down on top of the desk. “I’ve pledged my honor and my life to the king and France as a Musketeer!” His Gascon fury came to the fore and just as quickly disappeared as he calmed down. Risking a glance at his cousin he grinned. “Anyway when you think on it we’re so far removed down the line that we could say we actually have no connection at all to each other.”

“Do you know why I took this position in the first place, d’Art?”

“Power, prestige and all that rot and rubbish,” d’Artagnan laughed wickedly.

“Your friend Porthos is rubbing off on you,” Rochefort snickered. “But I didn’t take the job for those reasons sound though they may be.” Walking up to the boy he placed a hand on d’Artagnan’s shoulder. “I finally found out where you were and wanted to be near in case you needed my help in whatever form that would take.”

“I hadn’t realized you were searching for me,” d’Artagnan frowned, “not having heard from you or your family all these years past,” he shrugged. “Besides I’ve found three wonderful brothers in Athos, Aramis and Porthos. They watch out for me as if I were part of the family, the captain included.” D’Artagnan wore a pleased look when he thought about how sometimes they smother him with too much affection but no one could have too much of that.

Rochefort huffed, “I’ve noticed that the entire regiment treats you as a lost puppy that needs caring for,” he teased the boy. “I remember the effect you had on my parents when you were just a tyke.” His memories of those days when he and d’Artagnan were younger filled him with melancholy. “You’re what? Nineteen now?”

“Yes, as of last month” d’Artagnan smirked. “We all went out celebrating. I’ve never been so drunk in my life. I swear Porthos knows all the good watering holes.”

“I’m sure,” Rochefort chuckled. “Well I’ve got you beat by thirteen years. I’m feeling my years weighing heavily on me now compared to your youthful exuberance.”

Crossing his arms, d’Artagnan thought about that. “I was seven last time I saw you,” he hung his head down for a moment and then glanced up at Rochefort, his hair covering half his face. “I thought my heart would break in half when you and your family moved away and none of us ever saw or heard from you again,” d’Artagnan’s memories saddened him greatly. “I cried when you left us.”

“I was twenty years old and a future awaited me,” Rochefort sighed. “Besides, I had to follow my family. Having no money of my own or a promise of a good job back then.”

“Aramis told me you were once a Musketeer,” d’Artagnan tilted his head and eyed Rochefort suspiciously. “I’ve had it up to here with spies and the cardinal’s clandestine affairs. So I really hope you are not one.”

“You going to tar me with that particular brush, d’Art?”

“Tell me if I’m wrong.”

Rapping his knuckles on top of his desk, Rochefort gaze locked with that of d’Artagnan’s curious one. Yet he did not give the youngster the answer he craved.

“Your silence is an answer in itself,” d’Artagnan snapped as he turned around to leave, striding to the door swiftly.

“I never told you how sorry I was to hear of your mother’s death,” Rochefort’s words rushed out trying to reach the youngster. He didn’t want d’Artagnan to leave angry.

Hand freezing on the door knob, d’Artagnan took a deep breath as he stared at the floor with unseeing eyes. “Thank you,” he whispered. “At least her death was quick. The sickness that took her ravaged our entire village that year.” D’Artagnan turned around to see the grave look Rochefort wore.

“Ironic that what brought you and your father to Paris cost Alexandre his life and later earned you a commission in the Musketeers.” Rochefort held out his hand. “I’m truly sorry at his death as well.”

“You know the facts then?”

“I made it my business too once I found out where you were.”

Not really wanting to part yet but knowing he must, d’Artagnan had to leave. “I better go or else Athos will send out search parties for me.”

“You hold him in high esteem?”

“As I once held you,” d’Artagnan fired back seeing the older man grimace in return.

“Perhaps I’ll work my way up that particular ladder again,” Rochefort smiled. As the boy turned to leave he added a parting comment. “When the time is right you’ll have my consent to divulge our secret.”

With a cocky salute and a thankful smile, d’Artagnan left.

++++

*Captain Treville’s office*

“Why’s our lad been seeing Rochefort lately?” Porthos exchanged concerned looks with Athos and Aramis.

“I’ve wondered about that myself, but whenever I approach d’Artagnan about it the boy closes me out.” Treville sounded just as worried as his best soldiers.

“You know what I think,” Porthos offered, “I bet good coin on the fact that Rochefort’s trying to do what the cardinal failed at but out in the open like and not behind our backs,” the large Musketeer left the rest unsaid. He knew everyone in the room understood what he was getting at.

“Yes,” Athos nodded thoughtfully. “That is always the cardinal’s approach. His signature just like Anne’s.”

“After everything the child’s been through I doubt his head could be turned by the offer of riches beyond his wildest dreams?” Aramis scoffed, offended on their youngest’s behalf.

“Look! I ain’t sayin’ d’Artagnan’s gonna switch sides!”

“Gentlemen!” Athos interrupted before fists started flying in anger. “D’Artagnan’s destiny is with us,” his hand slashed through the air, “of that I have no doubt! End of conversation on that point.” He stabbed his two friends with an exasperated look. “He… will be… the greatest… of us all!”

With all the bickering going on it was a wonder that Captain Treville heard someone at his door. “Enter!” he shouted out.

Poking his head inside, d’Artagnan wasn’t sure at first if he was barging in on something important. “I was informed that you were gathered up here and wondered if I was to attend as well.” D’Artagnan saw all four men’s gazes flick toward each other in silent communication and he winced inwardly. He knew they were talking about him and Rochefort and probably trying to figure out what was going on.

“Just going over our next assignment, lad,” Treville motioned the boy to come closer. “You will all be leaving within the hour.” He looked over at his lieutenant. “Athos you’ll fill d’Artagnan in while on the road,” he nodded his head curtly. “Now dismissed.”

++++

Feeling a nudge to his arm, d’Artagnan glanced over at Porthos’s serious expression. Riding quietly on Zad he had been lost in his own thoughts. “Roulette giving you trouble?”

“Naw,” Porthos shook his head. “Just wonderin’ if you were feelin’ all right. You’ve been mighty quiet and that’s not like you.”

“I’m fine. Never better.” Then d’Artagnan noticed two other concerned faces turned his way. Risking injury to himself he threw both hands up in the air. “Honest! Everything’s okay!”

Things really weren’t okay after the bandits struck.

“AMBUSH!” Athos shouted. “Get off your mounts! We’re sitting ducks like this!” he ordered.

There were eight bandits against the four of them which meant two per Musketeer. Not bad odds except one bandit got lucky and d’Artagnan didn’t.

Hearing a cry of pain the three inseparables swiftly looked at each other and when they realized it wasn’t any of them they cried as one, “D’Artagnan!”

As the bandit was going in for the killing blow on the youngster, Athos took him down with a shot dead center to the criminal's forehead. Running to the child’s side and noticing blood on the ground he anxiously tore open d’Artagnan’s doublet looking for the injury. “Mon dieu! Aramis!”

Finishing off the man he was dealing with Aramis ran quickly over. Kneeling down beside their young one he checked the serious wound just above d’Artagnan’s heart, bleeding copiously. “Porthos are you free!” he yelled out.

“Yeah. I finished em’ off.”

“Get my supplies off Belle and then get a fire going. Boil a lot of water. I’m going to need it.”

“How bad?” Atho’s grim look demanded Aramis not to white wash the truth.

“Bad,” Aramis snapped. “The bullet went clean through but if I can’t stop the bleeding we’ll lose him.”

Placing his hand on his friend’s back, Athos patted it with confidence. “Get on with it then.” At least d’Artagnan was already unconscious he thought. They wouldn’t need to knock him out like they do with Porthos. Wiping a hand over his face, Athos wondered how this assignment turned against them so quickly.

Aramis worked like the devil for over an hour on d’Artagnan’s wound aided by Porthos and Athos diligently working by his side to give him whatever he needed. “I’ve done all I can. Now it’s up to him.”

“One of your prayers wouldn’t go amiss,” Porthos suggested.

“I’ve been saying them the whole time I’ve tried to patch our whelp up.” Aramis was bone tired and deeply worried over the boy. “We’ll see how he does by morning.”

“Since Aramis is tending d’Artagnan, Porthos take first watch. I’ll take second,” Athos ordered.

As the hour grew later, d’Artagnan became feverish. Feeling the child’s forehead, Athos’s brow furrowed as he listened to the fever induced ramblings of his young friend.

“Maman, Roche and I didn’t mean to trounce your garden,” d’Artagnan mumbled. “Pe’re, why can’t I go with Roche? I’ll never see him again,” he rambled on. His head moving to and fro, he sighed. “Roche, I need to tell my friends. They should know.”

Sitting back on his haunches, Athos didn’t know what to make out of the child’s meanderings. The only thing that made any sense was that d’Artagnan and Rochefort somehow knew each other when they were children. But why would the comte not want anyone to know. Realizing he suddenly wasn’t alone with his thoughts any longer, Athos stood up and watched Porthos’s dark face frown. “You heard all that?”

“Yeah and so did Aramis.” Porthos wasn’t sure what all that nonsense meant either. Could have been just the fever talking.

“I believe there’s more going on here than any of us realize,” Athos guessed. “There’s a big age gap between Rochefort and our pup so if d’Artagnan knew the comte when he was a child he had to have been quite little at the time.” 

Keeping busy, Aramis checked d’Artagnan’s fever again and placed a fresh compress on the boy’s forehead. “Fever’s down. We may be able to leave come morning. I’d feel better once we get him to the garrison’s infirmary.”

“As would I,” Athos agreed. “I’ll bed down here near the boy. “Porthos,” he raised a brow in question.

“I’ve got it. If there are anymore bandits out there they won’t stand a chance,” Porthos remarked firmly.

Trusting Aramis to wake him if there were even the slightest change in d’Artagnan’s health, Athos decided to take a light nap settling down beside their youngest while holding d’Artagnan’s hand in his own. He needed to feel their connection.

++++

*Next morning*

“Aramis, is d’Artagnan going to last til we get home?” Porthos hefted the boy up to Athos making sure the other man had a firm hold on their still unconscious charge.

“Fever broke overnight,” After mounting Belle, Aramis placed his hat on his head. “We’re only an hour away from the garrison. D’Artagnan’s tough. He’ll survive the trip.”

Riding away, all three Musketeers were still trying to work out what d’Artagnan’s nighttime murmurings meant.

++++

*Musketeer Garrison, courtyard*

“What the deuce happened?” Captain Treville hollered when he saw the condition his best men were in as they dismounted. Especially d’Artagnan.

Athos signaled for Porthos to carry d’Artagnan to the infirmary and had Aramis attend as well. Which left it up to him to give the full details of what befell them to their captain.

As his lieutenant explained what had happened, frustration and dread filled him at how d'Artagnan received his injury. Treville couldn’t believe his men were attacked again. This was happening too much of late. “Aramis feels all will be well with d’Artagnan then?”

About to confirm that, Athos caught a blur of motion running inside the infirmary. “Rochefort?”

“I didn’t ask about Rochefort!” Trevilled slapped his hand against his thigh. “Athos what’s wrong with you?”

“Rochefort just ran inside the infirmary.”

Both men stared at each other perplexed. So they decided to follow the comte as well. When they entered the infirmary they were greeted by a din of yelling voices.

“Will you two be quiet!” Rochefort shouted at Aramis and Porthos who were peppering him with questions. “How do you expect d’Artagnan to get any rest?”

“I agree with the Comte,” Treville barked roughly but eyed Rochefort with a wary look.

“All right, all right. If you must know,” Rochefort crooked a finger at the doctor to indicate he wanted the man to step out of the room. When the door closed Rochefort and the others gathered around d’Artagnan’s bed, “I’ve known d’Art since he was a baby back in Gascony.”

Silence met Rochefort’s ears at his reluctant admission. “What? No comments? Snide remarks? Or inane quips?”

“Carry on, Comte,” Treville urged, needing to hear more of this interesting story.

“My family had my future mapped out for me, and we eventually moved away from Lupiac. D’Art was seven back then and I was twenty. But we were best friends as well as,” Rochefort paused wincing, knowing that the truth had to come out, “cousins.”

One would have heard a pin dropping in the dead silence that suddenly filled the room.

“Thought you didn’t want them to know yet,” d’Artagnan slowly opened one eye and then the other, squinting against the bright sunlight that filtered through the windows. His head felt like it was filled with cotton wool. Everything was fuzzy.

“I’m in shock,” Aramis admitted. Glancing down at their pup his eyes twinkled as he rubbed his chin. “Mmmmm, *d’Art* is it,” he laughed at the sullen look on d’Artagnan’s face. “I can work with that.”

Rolling his eyes, d’Artagnan stabbed his cousin with a baleful look. “Nice. Really nice!” he snapped. “Now Aramis will tag me with that for God knows how long!”

“Well, gentlemen, this clears up a few things at least,” Treville watched Rochefort closely and could tell the man was upset at having to let this secret out.

“It’s a dis...,” d’Artagnan struggled to get the word out, “an extremely distant relationship.” He tried to sit up in bed unaided but failed miserably, listing to the side like a drunken sailor. Rochefort and Aramis each reached for him at the same time and nearly collided into one another. Shoving their hands away from him, d’Artagnan scowled. “Leave be, do.”

Glancing up at his cousin’s stony expression or what he could see of it through his blurred vision, d’Artagnan shrugged. “Well the world hasn’t ended since you told them, Roche.”

“Roche?” Porthos snorted, wondering what would happen if he ever dared call the comte by that nickname.

“You can’t call him that,” d’Artagnan warned waggling a finger, “only me.” His wound chose that moment to bother him and as he rubbed at it he got his hand batted away for his effort by Aramis.

“Mind my needlework, please.”

“Sorry,” d’Artagnan leaned his head on Aramis’s shoulder. The latter had decided to prop the boy up with a hand to his back despite the youngster’s protests. “See,” he waved his hand in the air pointing to each of his three friends. “My family thought you were up to no good, Roche,” d’Artagnan’s speech slurred. “They needed to know,” he chuckled. “So much for being awake. I’m really, really tired.” Trying to keep his eyes open was a losing battle as they kept sliding shut. So d’Artagnan gave up, resting his head against Aramis’s chest.

“D’Artagnan,” Athos voice was gentle so as not to startle the child. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Feel really, really weird,” d’Artagnan chortled as everything around him was spinning.

“Porthos, get that doctor back in here!” Athos ordered.

Doctor Swithin was nearly dragged back inside by the larger Musketeer.

Pointing to the boy, Athos wanted answers. “He is not acting himself.”

“That’s because I gave him something for the pain,” Doctor Swithin retorted.

“Too much by what I am seeing,” Rochefort wasn’t pleased either.

“Perhaps I misjudged the dosage.” At his admission the doctor found five men very unhappy with him.

“He sounded a bit loopy before he drifted off,” Porthos growled at the doctor.

“D’Artagnan better be all right!” Athos snapped and watched Doctor Swithin back away from him.

"Aramis?" Treville questioned their sometimes medic in the field.

"If our good doctor gave him more than he should have I don't see any harm coming to d'Artagnan," Aramis gazed over at the young man. "Matter of fact I like him better this way."

"Oh for the love of God!" Athos slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand.

“Gentlemen, we're getting a bit off track here,” Rochefort gained everyone’s attention once more and pointed a finger at the doctor, motioning the man to leave again.

“In and out,” Doctor Swithin complained as he left their side. “Make up your minds.” He slammed the door shut behind him.

Rochefort made sure the door was definitely closed before he continued. “I had heard rumors about a very young boy from Gascony becoming a Musketeer and to say the least I was quite intrigued,” he smiled. “The only boy I knew capable of accomplishing that type of feat at the age of eighteen would have been d'Art,” pride filled his voice.

“How so,” Athos questioned. “By all accounts d’Artagnan was only seven years old when you left the village. You would not have had knowledge of his prowess with a blade as he matured.”

“Alexandre d’Artagnan taught both of us swordsmanship when we were children. D'Art was an apt pupil despite his tender years,” Rochefort gazed fondly at his sleeping cousin. “I knew he would turn out a force to be reckoned with as time went on.”

“So you traced the rumors clear back to Paris.” Aramis settled the youngster back down on the bed as d'Artagnan's restlessness threatened to dump him on the floor. “What now?”

“Trying to make up for the empty years in-between,” Rochefort shrugged. “And don’t think I hadn’t put in an effort to bring d'Art over to my side of the fence since my arrival,” he smirked. “But if the cardinal couldn’t change d’Art’s mind, and by all accounts he used some dirty tricks, then there’s no sense me beating my head against a brick wall.”

“Roche,” d’Artagnan mumbled, “do shut up.” He could have sworn Athos and the captain laughed just then, but his mind was so muddled he wasn’t sure what he was hearing.

“Sleep, d’Artagnan,” Athos ordered gently. He had walked over to the boy’s bedside and lightly ran his fingers through the soft, brown hair.

“Ah, papa bear,” Rochefort quipped.

“Sometimes I feel as if I inherited three children,” Athos’s blue eyes danced as he glanced over at Aramis and Porthos who smiled sheepishly back.

“If you're papa bear,” Aramis choked on his laughter so hard that he couldn’t manage the words.

“I gather that would make either Aramis or Porthos mama and baby bear,” Captain Treville filled in chuckling.

“Making d’Artagnan...” Porthos had a pillow thrown in his face from the boy.

“Don’t say it!” d’Artagnan warned threatening his friend with another pillow.

“Goldilocks,” Porthos finished with a bellow of laughter when d’Artagnan, sleepy as he was, tried to lunge out of the bed after him but Athos held the youngster back.

“Thought you were asleep,” Athos murmured quietly, trying to soothe the boy with calm words.

“Was,” d’Artagnan yawned, cracking his jaw. “Too much chattering.”

“Let’s leave him to rest up,” Rochefort suggested. Winking at his cousin as he leaned down to ruffle d’Artagnan’s hair. “You used to hate that.”

“Still do,” d’Artagnan shot back, knocking Rochefort’s hand away.

“I do beg your humble pardon, my lord,” Rochefort grinned and waved goodbye to d’Artagnan.

“D’Artagnan, sleep,” Athos ordered again.

“I’m glad the cat’s slipped out of the bag finally,” d’Artagnan turned tired eyes on his best friend. “Didn’t like not telling you, Athos.”

“It wasn’t exactly your secret to tell and I understand.” Tapping the boy on the cheek, Athos left him be.

“Ara...mis,” d’Artagnan reached out to his friend before he too left. “Thanks for all your needlework. I promise not to pull any stitches.”

“Missions have taken on a livelier note since you’ve been with us,” Aramis laughed gayly. “I find I’m no longer bored.” He covered the child with a blanket, tucking d’Artagnan inside with its warmth. “Sweet dreams.” Finally he left as well.

“Any other distant relations we should know about waiting to take us by surprise?” Porthos’s breath ghosted over d’Artagnan’s skin as the last Musketeer laid a giant hand on the youngster’s head.

“I’d have to ask Roche.”

“Close your eyes, pup.”

“Sing me a song, Porth...os.”

The type of songs he knew wouldn't be appropriate to lull someone to sleep so Porthos settled for humming instead which seemed to do the trick as he watched d’Artagnan’s face relax as he drifted off to sleep again. But not before the boy had the last word. 

"Would have rather had one of your bawdy songs," d'Artagnan mumbled sleepily and heard Porthos's snort of gentle laughter.

++++

Outside in the courtyard, Porthos joined his friends along with Captain Treville. “So do we count Rochefort friend or foe?”

“For the time being he’s d’Artagnan’s cousin and will be treated with respect until such time he proves an enemy to the king, queen or d’Artagnan.” Treville eyed all his soldiers. “Do I make my self clear?”

“Perfectly, sir,” Athos nodded and watched the captain march away. Looking at the set faces of his two comrades, Athos made sure Treville was out of earshot before he said anything. “Gentlemen, we still need to keep a close eye on the comte. Cousin or not to d’Artagnan, I do not completely trust the man.”

“Yes,” Aramis agreed. “Who is to say that he wouldn’t use d’Artagnan in some plot of his.”

“We’ll watch over our whelp and make sure nothin’ like that happens to em,” Porthos said as he held out his hand and waited for the others to place theirs on top of his. “All for one and one for all!”

The End


End file.
